


don't let me be

by winteryknights (BlackcatNamedlucky)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackcatNamedlucky/pseuds/winteryknights
Summary: Based on the Hozier lyric prompts: "When you move, I can recall somethin’ that’s gone from me" & "You don’t understand, you should never know how easy you are to need"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	don't let me be

There are days when all Crowley needs is to see Aziraphale to feel okay again, days when it just takes the angel’s smile to brighten his world, days when the two of them just sitting in the bookshop, Crowley lazing about on the couch while Aziraphale takes stock of his inventory, regaling him with tales of how he’d acquired the books, makes Crowley feel like nothing could go wrong.

And then there are days like today.

Crowley hates himself for days like today. Days where seeing the angel reminds himself of everything he’s lost. Days where it feels like, no matter what Crowley has done since, his greatest failing will always be his defining trait.

On days like today, seeing the angel hurts. And it tears Crowley apart. So, on days like today, he stays in his loft. He’ll sit among his plants (and doesn’t even bother to threaten them over a brown leaf or wilted flower) and flip through a book or magazine without reading it before giving up and staring at the ceiling. He’ll get over it, eventually. He always does. The feeling will go away with time. It usually only takes a day or two, nowadays.

Aziraphale finds him, still staring at the ceiling, a week later.

He approaches him gently, because of course he does, how else are you supposed to treat someone you love? He sits next to Crowley, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. They sit like this, silent, unmoving, until the afternoon sun has sunk under the horizon and the dark room is lit only by the streetlights below.

Then, slowly, Aziraphale reaches a hand towards Crowley, settling it just over halfway between them, an open invitation. Crowley, just as slow, takes it, curling his cold fingers ‘round the angel’s warm hand, looking down for the first time to cast his glance at the place that links them to remind himself this is real.

Aziraphale helps him up, moving his hand to the small of Crowley’s back and leading him to the bedroom. Crowley moves away to sit on the edge of his bed while Aziraphale sifts through his dresser drawers until he finds a pair of black silk pajamas, monogrammed with gold thread, and leaves them next to Crowley when he leaves the room for the kitchen. If he miracles up two mugs of hot chocolate when he realizes that Crowley hasn’t kept the place stocked in who knows how long, no one has to know.

When he returns, he finds Crowley has changed, his clothes from before a messy pile on the floor, and he’s curled up under the blankets, still staring out at the wall.

Aziraphale sits next to him, sets one of the steaming mugs down on the bedside table, cradling the other in his palms, and waits for Crowley to react.

The demon works his jaw back and forth and swallows thickly. “How’d y’know t’look for me?” he asks, voice like sandpaper and muffled by the duvet pulled up to his chin.

“I looked around the shop and realized there hadn’t been any wiles afoot for me to thwart lately, my dear,” the angel responds, a teasing lilt to his otherwise concerned tone, and Crowley smiles. Half-smiles. Moves his lips in a way that assures Aziraphale he’s trying to smile.

“S’pose I shoulda warned you you’d be out of work,” he teases back, though there’s no amusement to his tone.

Aziraphale sits, pondering how best to respond as his mug cools in his hands. “You should know, my life seems empty without you,” he starts, careful, letting the words hang as he mulls over the next ones. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this, but I’d be quite bored without your mischief. I’m inclined to believe it’s one of your best qualities.”

And, that is certainly not something Crowley ever thought he would hear. He pulls himself to a sitting position and stares owl-eyed at the angel.

“Really, I am. I think it’s best you know that. I think,” and here Aziraphale trails off, judging whether he should really be saying this or not. He does. “I think you ought to know that I need you around, Crowley,” he says, turning to face him.

This is dangerous information to share when you’re on opposite sides of a celestial war but Aziraphale thinks the risk is worth it when Crowley leans forward, cupping the angel’s face with reverence and staring into his eyes.

“Say it again,” he croaks, and Aziraphale leans forward, sets his mug on the bedside table, and rests his hands on Crowley’s thin shoulders.

“I need you.”

And that’s all the confirmation Crowley needs to close the distance between the two, chapped lips meeting Aziraphale’s soft ones in the gingerest of kisses. It’s brief, barely there before Crowley pulls away and buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, wrapping his arms loosely around the angel’s waist. “Need you around too,” he mutters after a while, and Aziraphale’s arms move to encircle the demon’s shoulders.

“I know you do. You’ve never had to say it,” he assures him.

Neither are sure quite how long they stay in this embrace before shifting so Aziraphale, miracling up a pair of cream-and-blue tartan pajamas for himself, is under the covers as well, still holding Crowley close, and the pair drift off to sleep.


End file.
